


Not Awkward at All

by MalecCrazedAuthor



Series: A Series of Completely Not Awkward Encounters [1]
Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-04
Updated: 2016-05-04
Packaged: 2018-06-06 07:37:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,247
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6745234
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MalecCrazedAuthor/pseuds/MalecCrazedAuthor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Returning to the Institute to check on the wards isn’t awkward in the slightest.</p><p>Nope. Not at all.</p><p>Also, Magnus absolutely cannot feel Lydia Branwell’s reserved eyes on him. And he’s not even remotely reluctant to run into Maryse Lightwood or her husband.</p><p>Or, perhaps worst of all, her son.</p><p>Who, by the way, still hasn’t called him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not Awkward at All

**Author's Note:**

> Chronologically this takes place a few days before Tongue-Tied.

Returning to the Institute to check on the wards isn’t awkward in the slightest.

Nope. Not at all.

Also, Magnus absolutely  _ cannot _ feel Lydia Branwell’s reserved eyes on him. And he’s not even remotely reluctant to run into Maryse Lightwood or her husband.

Or, perhaps worst of all, her son.

Who, by the way, still hasn’t called him. And whose increasingly infrequent text messages have been full of concern for another man for whom Magnus knows Alec has feelings.

_ Has _ had? It’s difficult to be sure, given that the attachment there exists on so many levels.

Magnus can’t even bring himself to be resentful (well, not  _ very _ ) about that. It’s not like he hasn’t seen  _ parabatai _ before. He has an inkling of what that bond entails. Add adoptive kinship and the muddled impulses of a bewildered post-adolescent infatuation into the mix, and it’s even worse.

However one wishes to define the relationship, someone very dear to Alexander is gone. It’s only natural and appropriate that Alec is preoccupied with the search. Magnus will just have to wait.

Wait, while all the misgivings Alexander tried to explain in his uncertain, stammering way at their last meeting have time to take root and grow.

Wait, while Alec talks himself out of the moment of bravery and resolve and self-determination that had him striding  _ away _ from the altar at his own wedding and  _ toward _ Magnus.

In other news, Magnus hates waiting.

It’s not that he can’t do it. One doesn’t live as long as he has without learning at least a little patience, especially when one knows one has all the time in the world. But it’s such a dreary, anxious state to be in. He’d much rather things be happening than to dwell in that interminable moment  _ before _ they happen.

Also, he finds anxiety to be intensely unpleasant. He’s spent centuries doing whatever he can to avoid the feeling. Usually that’s meant regarding things lightly whenever possible.

That’s not an option here, much to his dismay. Despite the number of years he’s been on this earth, rarely has he felt like so much of importance was riding on outcome of a wait.

It’s altogether intolerable.

No, better to concentrate on the delightful Ms. Branwell’s eyes. Awkwardness might not be much of an improvement over anxiety, but it’s at least a far more familiar condition.

He’s never crashed a person’s wedding before, with the intent of halting it on the chance that his own amorous intentions toward one of the hopefully-to-remain-unwedded parties might be returned. He’s not sure what the proper form for these sorts of situations is, but he’s certain it should involve spending as little time as possible with the jilted party thereafter.

Since that’s not an option either, instead he’s left trying to figure out what to say. Protracted silence isn’t his style and he finds it even less pleasant than anxiety, perhaps because the two states complement each other so diabolically well.

An apology would be trite, and besides, he doesn’t think Lydia truly harbors much resentment. Indeed, the poor girl is probably just as at a loss as Magnus as to what their new roles in this drama should be. Neither of them begrudges the other anything that has passed, and it’s that very lack of ill-will that leaves them floundering now. They have no script to play off of.

“I want to thank you,” she finally murmurs.

Magnus blinks, shaking off his startlement at hearing those precise words from her. It takes him a few seconds of deliberation to avoid stammering the way Alexander does so charmingly and so often. He doubts he could pull it off and remain half as appealing.

He offers her a small smile into which he pours an inordinate amount of effort to appear carefree. “Of course, my dear. I’m happy to check the wards whenever you need. With Valentine running amok—”

“You know that’s not what I mean.”

He slips her a sideways glance from the corner of his eye, though mostly he’s concentrating harder than necessary on the wards. He also sobers, because to take this seriously is the very least he owes her.

“Utterly without guile,” he murmurs, sighing. “In that, you and Alexander would have been very,  _ very _ well matched. I should be thanking  _ you _ , of course. You were far more generous than I had any right to expect, under the circumstances.” He ducks his head for a moment, then refocuses on the blue glow emanating from his hands and the way it plays with the magic already in place. “I suppose it would seem self-serving, to point out that it was not only myself and Alexander whose unhappiness was prevented by the way things transpired.”

One corner of her mouth creases sweetly, lifting just the tiniest bit. He’s glad to see the bruising on her face has disappeared and no sign of injury remains. Leveling a shadowhunter with a single blow is no easy feat, after all. As with so much else, though, she’s remarkably resilient. “It might seem that way, but that doesn’t mean it’s not true.”

“True or not, I would at least have spared you the public spectacle if I could have. Please believe that I tried to. But then in the eleventh hour I found I could not simply let it go without one final attempt.” He lets the magic bleed away from his fingers and turns to face her. “I never had any desire to embarrass you.”

“I know.” She nods once, then folds her arms over her chest, leaning against the wall. “I knew Alec was conflicted. Not at first, but then he proposed so soon after we met that I didn’t know him well enough to recognize what was going on. But the way he practically tripped all over himself every time your name was mentioned—I’m not stupid. By then, though, everything was already in motion. I felt I should respect the course he chose, especially since the consequences of the truth being known could be damaging for his entire family. If he was determined to marry to try to repair the Lightwood reputation, or even just to hide who he was, it should at least be to someone he didn’t have to mislead into believing the match was more than it could ever be.” This time when her mouth lilts, there is a slightly ironic twist to it. “Not that he’s capable of misleading anyone about anything. Ever.”

Magnus chuckles softly, then moves along to check the next ward. “I cannot fault your insight, nor dispute your reasoning. I’ve seen plenty of marriages of convenience in my time, my dear, especially those formed because it was necessary for one or both parties to hide proclivities that family or society wouldn’t tolerate. I can’t say all of them were unhappy. Many were reasonably content, especially those where expectations were low to begin with. The ones that flourished, though, were those where both partners were honest about themselves from the start and possessed a certain— _ open-mindedness _ —with regard to discreet external attachments. Somehow, I don’t see such an arrangement ever being palatable—for either of you.”

She shakes her head decisively. “No. Probably even less on Alec’s part than on mine. He’s honorable, and I admire that about him.”

“Hence the reason I never entertained the notion of making such an offer.” He gives her a frank look. “With someone else, under other circumstances I might have. But with Alec? No.”

He doesn’t say that it’s an arrangement he’s only witnessed at a distance, and not one he’s ever been a party to, due to some principle he can’t quite fully explain even to himself. But for Alexander Lightwood, he might have contemplated it. Which is something of a paradox, because if Alec were the sort of person who’d accept that offer, he would not have been someone to whom Magnus would have been willing to make it.

Especially since Alec is a Shadowhunter. It’s one thing to entertain the notion of being a bit on the side to another Downworlder or a mundane. But the Nephilim are already so convinced of their own superiority that assuming the role of extramarital paramour to one would carry some rather demeaning implications.

Lydia nods, looking philosophical. “When you walked in on the wedding, I tried to put myself in Alec’s position. What would I have done, if it had come down to me standing at the altar with a man my parents chose for me, and John at the other end of the aisle, begging me with his eyes not to go through with it? It wouldn’t have even been a question.” Her expression flickers, an instant of melancholy quickly replaced by stoicism. “So, I guess what I’m saying here is, thank you for breaking us out of a stalemate I don’t think either of us knew how to get past ourselves.”

“You’re very welcome, my dear.” He gives her a fond look, elevating her into the ranks of Nephilim he personally considers worthy of his admiration and respect. It’s never been a very well-populated field, but this current generation of Shadowhunters is threatening to increase the number considerably. “Hopefully this whole business with Valentine will be resolved sooner rather than later and then—well, we can see what we’ll see.”

Her eyes narrow shrewdly. “So that’s why we haven’t seen you around since Jace disappeared.”

“My goodness, aren’t these wards just fascinating all of a sudden?” He clears his throat and moves down to the next one. After a moment, she follows.

“I can hardly try to woo a young man who is desperately searching for his  _ parabatai _ , can I?” he tosses lightly into the expectant silence as it stretches on. “It would be  _ tacky _ , to expect his attention, and I do try to avoid that whenever possible.”

He has a feeling she would get it, that she would see just how helpless the circumstances have rendered him. He  _ cannot _ pursue Alec now. Any demands he makes, any attempt to divert Alec’s attention from the myriad crises at hand, will only foster resentment the longer the situation draws out. It would be a death knell for anything he might hope to build with Alec. 

“I suppose that does put you in a difficult position,” she murmurs.

He musters a game smile. “Besides, if Alexander and I ever do get any sort of courtship off the ground, it’s probably best we do so well away from the murder in Maryse’s eyes. I’ve a distinct dislike for being visually disemboweled. Just what  _ is _ the lethal range on a gaze, anyway? Do you know? How far away must I stand to be certain I leave with all treasured portions of my anatomy still intact? I’ve always wondered, but I’ve been loathe to put it to the test.” He heaves a dramatic sigh. “Now, however, it might become a matter of survival.”

“Well, you’re in luck there.” Lydia’s mouth quirks slightly. “Maryse and Robert are back in Idris, and Alec and I are running the Institute jointly.”

“Good to know, though the first point does remain. Anyway, I have nothing but time. That and a devastating sense of style.” He claps the last burst of energy from his hands and brushes them off. “There. I think that should do it. If you need anything else, don’t hesitate to call on me. No charge.”

She nods briskly, then sets her mouth and says, “Alec is out right now, but I won’t mind if you want to hang around and—”

“No.” He shakes his head, unable to maintain the smile. “Thank you, my dear. I don’t think that would be best. I—It’s better to wait. Again, if there’s anything I can do, please be sure to let me know.”

She accompanies him out, thankfully making no effort to insist on paying him for his time. At the doors, he stops, unable to quell the need to offer her something more for her generosity of spirit.

Leaning forward, he places a soft kiss on the cheek which had been so badly swollen and discolored the last time he saw her.

“You were the most radiant bride I’ve seen since Mumtaz Majal,” he says gently. “Thank you.”

He slips away before the astonished blush fades from her cheeks and her powers of speech return.

***

The Nephilim always seem to have some clever and ultimately nonsensical catchphrase meant to compel people to resign themselves to unpleasantries they would rather avoid.  _ The law is hard, but it is the law _ is just one of many.

Magnus can’t seem to get past “Waiting is hard, but…” before losing his will to mock Shadowhunter stoicism.

No amount of wit, pith, or derision is going to alter the fact that waiting simply sucks.

But it’s a little easier to bear now that he has discharged a portion of his burden of gratitude toward the delightful and impressive Lydia Branwell. And it feels a little less hopeless than it did in those mad hours following the wedding, where it seemed his dearest hopes had come close to fruition only to slip from his grasp once more.

Especially when he gets a fire message from Lydia later that day.

_ I hope we’ll be able to see more of you around the Institute very soon. _

When Alec finally calls him several days later, Magnus suspects he may owe her another round of thanks.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me at [maleccrazedauthor.tumblr.com](http://maleccrazedauthor.tumblr.com).


End file.
